


Fling

by rabidchild67



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-14 16:37:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4571811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidchild67/pseuds/rabidchild67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some PWP following the filming of <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DId-VOJmkYs">a certain charity promotional video</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fling

“You’re so much shorter than I thought you were.” Chris doesn’t so much walk away as _sashay_ , and it drives Idris wild. They’ve been playfully crowding and hip-checking each other through the entire afternoon’s shooting, and damn if Chris hasn’t given just as good as he’s gotten. He is handsy and flirty, his smiles as challenging as they are charming, and Idris has been keenly aware of his physical presence all morning. 

“That’s not what your girlfriend said, bro,” Idris calls after him with a grin. The entire crew bursts into laughter.

“Oh, ha! Good one! My _girl_ friend, yeah, ha!” Chris spins around and his eyes twinkle as he looks up into the lighting rig. “Sure.”

Idris narrows his eyes, looking for some larger clue of what he could mean, but Chris just turns and walks away, narrow hips swinging. Captivated, Idris follows him off the set and along the corridor—they’re both done for the moment and most of the crew are resetting the equipment for Karl and Zach’s bit. The dressing rooms are off in this direction, Idris thinks; he only just arrived the day before, but he’s fairly certain.

Chris makes the turn down another corridor and Idris follows. He’s still wearing thongs on his feet, so his footsteps are perfectly discernible. Pine pauses outside a dressing room door, turns to lean against the door jamb, arms folded across his chest. “What was that about my girlfriend?” he says, a challenge in his words if not in his manner.

Idris leans against the wall, mirroring Chris’s stance; he’s close enough their forearms touch. “I’m sorry, I’m sure she’s a lovely girl.”

He smiles, “Fuck you,” and is suddenly in motion, his hands coming up to frame Idris’s face as his mouth descends like a greedy carnivore, nipping and sucking. Idris is thrown off balance, because Chris is still moving, stepping backward through the door and spinning them. Before he knows it, Idris’s back is against the wall inside the dressing room, hands splayed along the wall for balance.

“What the fuck, warn a guy.”

Chris laughs. “No.” His lips are bruising this time, and so are his fingers where they grasp at Idris’s waist, hauling their bodies together and grinding his already hard dick against Idris’s hip. “I’ve been hard for you all fucking morning.”

“Christ!” Idris exclaims.

“Nuh-uh, it’s Chris. Chris. I know you’re new here and all, but there’s no need to deify me.”

“Man, shut the fuck up and get off.” He shoves Chris away. “Now come here!” He grabs for Chris’s belt and fumbles it open, tears at his shirttail.

Chris laughs as he grabs for Idris’s t-shirt. It takes too long but eventually they’re naked—well, Chris is because he apparently doesn’t wear underwear, while Idris is sporting a huge tent in his boxer briefs. “Look at you,” Idris breathes, staring at Chris, so perfect and unabashed. The door to the dressing room is still open. “Come back here.”

“Nuh-uh,” Chris says, shaking his head and backing away, towards the couch. “You.”

Idris has never been one for games, and he’s not about to start. He shoves the door closed and turns back around to say something pithy, but Chris is already bent over the arm of the sectional couch, fucking _presenting_ , and that ass has got to be insured for millions. “Blimey,” Idris breathes, stepping closer.

“You British guys really say that?” 

“Shut up.”

Chris smirks, points with his chin at the side table. “There’s lube and rubbers in that drawer over there.”

Idris would counter that with a witty rejoinder, but his dick is so hard his head is swimming, and he fetches the requested materials without comment.

Chris squirms when Idris breaches him with a lube-smeared middle finger; it’s still cold. It warms up quickly in the tight heat of that ass, though, and he’s soon taking a second finger, fucking himself down on Idris’s hand and grunting. “Look at you, such a slut for me.”

“I’m a slut for everyone I’m with. Now come on, what are you waiting for?”

“Guess I’m not waiting for anything.” Idris opens the condom and gets it on, applies a bit of lube to his dick and lines up. “You ready?” he teases, whacking his cock against the crack of Chris’s ass. He makes an outraged, needy sound and Idris laughs. “Yeah, you’re ready.”

Idris lays a hand on Chris’s ass and pushes in slowly, savoring the resistance his co-star’s body offers. Beneath him, Chris gasps, little _ah-ah-ahhhs_ coming from his mouth like puffs of smoke. Idris pushes in, as gentle as he can be, though his partner doesn’t seem to require it. Chris bears down to take all of him, mouth open in a silent moan as Idris bottoms out. Chris has his head thrown back, a sheen of sweat marring his brow, making his carefully coiffed bangs hang over those impossibly blue eyes. He bites his lip, and the sight makes something twist in Idris’s chest.

“God, Chris, you’re so—“ His words trail off.

“What? Hot? Tight? What?”

“I was gonna say sweet,” Idris mutters, leaning forward to kiss a pale shoulder blade. Chris twists his hips, driving Idris even deeper. He moans in counterpoint, the penetration probably too much too soon, but his message is clear. “OK, maybe not so sweet.”

“Don’t you forget it. Now come on, fuck me.” He does the thing with his hips again, making Idris groan. 

“Aye-aye, Cap’n.” Idris grabs Chris by that perfect hair to pull his head back, and snaps his hips forward, hard, for emphasis. Chris bucks forward. “You feel that?”

“Make me feel it tomorrow.”

“I’ll make you feel it next week, mate.”

Chris tosses his head as Idris lets him go, laughing. Idris straightens, grabs Chris’s hips with both hands and fucks into him. He can feel Chris’s body opening up to accommodate, and he closes his eyes, concentrating on finding the right rhythm and on the sensations as bare flesh slaps against bare flesh and the moans of his partner rise in volume.

“God, yeah, that’s right, right there!” Chris says, scrabbling backward with a hand to grab at Idris’s hip. “Right fucking there!” He pushes up and back, back arching and standing now as he reaches down to fist his dick with his other hand. Idris leans into him, slipping his hand around his waist and pulling their bodies flush, driving his dick in as deep as he can and grinding his pubic bone against Chris’s ass. “FUUUUCK MEEE!!!” Chris shouts, heedless of the noise, apparently, or of the fact the walls back here are as thin as paper.

“Oh my god, shut it,” Idris, who does actually give a shit that people might know what is going on in here, says as he reaches for Chris’s face and turns it so he can kiss him, silencing him. He gets a bitten lip for his trouble and snaps his hips back and forward in response, driving into Chris so hard he loses his footing. They fall forward onto the cheap leather couch. Chris struggles a bit for purchase, pushing against the couch with his hands, but Idris puts a hand between his shoulder blades to hold him down. “Hold still.”

Chris laughs and complies, but not before twisting his hips again and clenching his muscles against Idris.

“I’m going to come if you keep that up,” Idris warns.

“You don’t get to come before I do.”

“You’re a bossy little twat, aren’t you?”

“Don’t you fucking forget it.” These are bold words coming from a man whose face Idris is currently pushing into the couch cushions. He shifts away a bit, for better leverage, and fucks Chris again in earnest. Chris gives up the struggle, eyes screwing shut and moaning as Idris apparently hits his sweet spot. He shoves a hand beneath his body to pull at his dick. A moment later he stiffens, his ass clenching down hard as he comes.

“Fuck! Shit! Fuck!” Idris sucks in a breath, his vision going white around the edges and hips pumping as he comes hard. A moment later, he collapses over Chris’s body, and they tumble over to lie on their backs on the wide couch, panting.

Idris holds in a breath, trying to steady himself. Chris, still panting himself, huffs a laugh and then winces as he makes himself more comfortable. “I think I _am_ going to feel that next week.”

“That was… I mean… how…” Idris still doesn’t quite believe what just happened—he only just arrived on set the day before!—and he thinks it shows as he gapes at Chris. “What the fuck just happened?”

“On-set flings are something of a tradition in Hollywood.” Chris reaches a hand out to cup Idris’s face; this time when he kisses him, it’s warm and sweet.

“Is that an offer?”

“If you like.”

Idris is beyond intrigued. He pulls Chris closer so he’s laying on top. “I take it I’m not your first then?” 

Chris’s eyes go far-away for a moment. “My second, actually.”

“Only second? There’s a story there. Do I get to hear it?”

Chris lifts his head and kisses him. “Maybe. If you’re very good.”

\----

Thank you for your time.


End file.
